


Bake Sale

by Clocketpatch



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cake Fic Meme, Who at 50 Fanworkathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocketpatch/pseuds/Clocketpatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seth has been wrangled into helping out at a charity bake sale. Cake!fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bake Sale

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fudging Kate's age a bit. And while I'm fudging things, uh, Three was a member of UNIT in the 1980s. That's totally, almost canon isn't it? (Dating UNIT: Who fandom's favourite past-time since 1969). I can only apologize for my attempt at "sulky English teenager circa 1980".
> 
> * * *

Author's Notes: I'm fudging Kate's age a bit. And while I'm fudging things, uh, Three was a member of UNIT in the 1980s. That's totally, almost canon isn't it? (Dating UNIT: Who fandom's favourite past-time since 1969). I can only apologize for my attempt at "sulky English teenager circa 1980".

* * *

  
So, Friday night and I've got an invite to a party at a hot girl's house so I should be ecstatic right? Should. But my Mum has other plans and never mind that I'm barely two years away from legal emancipation. She's bloody confiscated the wheels. It is her car, but that doesn't forgive the bit where she kidnapped me and forced me into indentured servitude.

You think I'm kidding? You think: she's your mother, it isn't kidnapping. You think: so what, you're still at _a_ party. There's _a_ girl at that party. What are you complaining about?

You think that way. My Mum seems to think that way too. And you're probably laughing to yourself just like she is because — and I don't care how technical you want to get with words and definitions - _bake sale_ isn't an equivalent to _party_ , Mum. I've got this thing called a brain. I can use it to think and work out stuff like that. Bloody hell.

So, Friday night and I'm at a bake sale for some weird charity. It's being held in a big converted Quonset hut out in the middle of nowhere. The floor is gungy white tiles and the curve of the ceiling means that there aren't any good walls to lean against, except at the back and front. But the back is a big stage and there's a crowd milling around the door up front. Lots of middle age men in military uniform. Lots of men in suits. Lots of ladies dressed like my Mum with pointy boobs and shoulder pads and clouds of perfume that make me gag. I'd swear again, but I got slapped the last time.

There's _a_ girl in that crowd, like my Mum promised, but she's about eight. She's got blonde hair and a giant scowl. You can tell she doesn't want to be in a dress. I don't blame her — I wouldn't want to be in anything that frilly either.

Anyway, I get all of two minutes to wander around this giant, empty, echoing hut and watch all of the people by the doors play meet and greet. Then the indentured labour part of the evening kicks in and I'm being herded out into the parking lot to help off-load folding tables, and folding chairs, and folding god-knows-what from a waiting van until my spine is folding in on itself. There's some young army guys to help and they're all laughing and joking, which would be fine except I get that it's mostly me they're laughing at.

The blonde girl comes out around to inspect us as we carry the folding stuff into the hut and set it up. The guys in uniform salute her and she scowls then smiles then scowls again. I don't understand kids. The crowd around the door doesn't really move as we bring the stuff in and as we're scooting to the side I bash my fingers off the edge, yelp, drop the table on my foot, yelp more. The little girl says:

"You should watch where you're going."

Yeah, thanks for the advice.

You can tell the crowd of attendees in the hut are getting bored. People checking their watches. I over hear them saying that all this was supposed to be set up hours ago, but there was some big delay. I angrily kick open the legs on the last table. The army guy who helps me flip it over has a big grin on his face.

I ask him what he's grinning about, with his people being late and all.

"Doctor's here," he says.

I look at the door and there's this absolute nutter come in there wearing, I swear I am not kidding, a black velvet jacket and a cape with red silk lining. He's got Einstein hair and with the outfit he looks like he's auditioning for Dracula. Or would look like that, except for the rainbow smears of icing down his front. He looks like he took a swim in pool filled with birthday cake.

I don't have long to look because someone hands me a pile of tablecloths and tells me to start setting up. None of the tablecloths are actually long enough to cover the pushed together tables, and none of them are the same colour either. Friday night and I've got an invite to a party at a hot girl's house, but I'm in a Quonset hut in the middle of nowhere trying to figure out which two flower patterns are the closest match while an annoying little girl stares at me.

All of the army guys who'd been helping me have buggered off to chat with the nutter by the door so I'm left to figure it out on my own. I stop trying to match patterns and do my best to make everything clash as much as possible. I'm not being paid, why should I care?

As soon as I've got everything done I'm shooed away into a corner as the ladies come over, strip everything off, and redo the tables the way they want them. Then they go out to the parking lot and after an age come back with platters of plastic-wrapped deserts. By this point all of the men in suits and the military people have dug up some beers and drinks from somewhere and they're getting well stuck into it. I manage to snag one can when no one's looking and sit up on the stage nursing it morosely.

The girl climbs up beside me and sits, thunking her feet against the stage really annoyingly for about five minutes, before she gets bored and wanders away. All of the adults seem to be in love with her. The bake sale hasn't started yet but she has several cookies. Whatever, I've got my can.

My Mum wanders over in between setting out scones and asks if I'm having fun.

"Oh yeah, worlds of it."

She tsks at my sarcasm and she tsks at my can, then she thanks me for helping out and goes back to arranging plates of baked goods. My can empties. I contemplate stealing another one. I watch the nutter make dramatic hand motions as the army men laugh and the suited men look sceptical and the women ignore all of the men and concentrate on filling the tables with deliciousness. It's starting to smell really good in the hut: sugar-y, cinnamon-y, chocolate-y.

I don't have any money to buy anything. I envy the annoying girl her cookies.

The nutter breaks away from the group and starts walking towards the stage. Oh crap. He looks at me. He says:

"I apologize; I need to borrow your stage for a moment. I hope you don't mind."

He doesn't sound the slightest bit sarcastic. He sounds, I don't know, grandfather-y? I jump off the stage and he jumps on. He looks about seventy, but he puts one hand on the stage and jumps up in one smooth leap. I couldn't be that smooth if I tried. Damn, maybe he is a vampire. Or do capes actually give you super powers? He smiles at my dropped jaw and goes to centre stage. The crowd quiets.

"Despite some unforeseen setbacks," Nutter says, and pauses. The army people laugh like mad. "The first annual Earth Watch charity bake sale will be beginning shortly. All proceeds will go towards the refitting of the Amazon research station. Jo and Cliff send their regards to everyone gathered here today and regret that they were unable to attend." His voice wavers a bit there, but he quickly picks up and starts talking about mushrooms or something.

It's a Jo-thing then. Auntie Jo. The weird one. The one who always had some charity event or another to drag family members off to. I liked her. Looking around, I think that my Mum and I are the only Grants at the bake sale and I'm not here by choice. That's a bit sad. Most of the family wasn't impressed with her going off to the jungle with some guy she'd only met the week before, but I thought she was pretty cool. Daring. Adventurous. Hot… except she's my aunt, so you know. Uh. Yeah. And a secret agent, possibly. She told me that last family reunion. She said:

"I'm a secret agent, but I can't keep it secret. Well not that secret, but the UN keeps it mostly secret."

She'd been into the wine by that point so I didn't really believe her. Not when she started going on about time travel and aliens a few minutes later, but secret agent would explain all of the military people standing around now.

If my Mum had made it more clear that the bake sale was for auntie Jo I might've come of my own free will. Probably not, because as I've already explained multiple times _I had a prior engagement_ , but I might've been less resentful about it.

Alright, being fair, it's entirely possible that she did explain, but was pointedly not listening to a thing she said because, _prior engagement_.

Anyway, Nutter is still talking, but he's winding down. He's dressed like he escaped from somewhere but at least he isn't long-winded.

"Let the bake sale commence!" he says, and he manages to sound utterly dignified while saying it which can't be easy.

Unfortunately, the bake sale _doesn't_ have a dignified start because right then a naked man rushes into the Quonset hut. He's tall and skinny and pale, with thick black-rimmed glassed and lots of chest hair. He's got cake all over him too and he definitely _has_ escaped from somewhere. You can tell because of the handcuffs dangling off his right arm.

"Stop! Nobody eat anything!" he yells.

The little girl is gawking. I'm gawking too. Everyone is gawking. Someone in uniform, I think it’s the little girl's father actually, puts at hasty hand over her eyes and demands to know what is going on.

"Ah, Brigadier," the naked man says. He walks over, all butt-naked and bits swinging around, with his hand stuck out like he actually expects a handshake, "it's good to see you!"

The little girl's father, the Brigadier, he's got a tiny little mustache and it twitches. He says, very reasonably I think: "Doctor, would you please put some clothes on."

The naked man just beams at this and is all, "You recognise me!"

The Brigadier says, "I was warned in advance." His mustache twitches again. "There are some spare tablecloths over by the stage. I doubt anyone will mind if you requisition them."

The naked man says, "What? What? Oh, yes. I see." He notices the little girl. He beams like a lighthouse. "Little Katherine! I haven't seen her since — today, actually."

The Brigadier clears his throat.

"Right. Tablecloths."

And then the naked man is walking towards me. Luckily, he doesn't talk to me. Only helps himself to the tablecloths and makes a floral patterned toga out of them. The nutter on stage (who doesn't seem half such a nutter compared to the no-longer-naked man) jumps off as nimbly as he jumped on and starts tearing no-longer-naked man a new one:

"And just what do you think _you're_ doing here?" Cape Man asks (I can't keep calling him nutter. It doesn't seem right. He is, obviously, but not the biggest one in the room).

"Saving lives," No-Longer-Naked Man says.

"But the temporal distortions. The pastry paradox. Do you know what you're doing to the time streams?" Cape Man rages.

"It's all contaminated!" No-Longer-Naked says.

"All of it?" Cape Man sounds grave.

"All of it," No-Longer-Naked says even more gravely.

"Do you know when?" Cape Man asks.

"While we were chained together in the mixing bowl, obviously," says No-Longer-Naked.

"Obviously. And the Master?"

"Got away while you were busy rushing off to your bake sale."

"It's for Jo," says Cape Man.

They both look sad for a bit.

"I know," says No-Longer-Naked. He pauses. "No one's eaten anything?"

"No," says Cape Man, "the bake sale hasn't started yet."

And that's when I get to be a hero, because I interrupt them right in the middle of No-Longer-Naked taking a big sigh of relief. I say:

"The little girl's been having cookies."

The two nutters, Cape Man and No-Longer-Naked stare at each other in horror. Then they dash across the room and start talking to the Brigadier who again responds very reasonably with:

"You are not abducting my daughter."

But the nutters explain that it's a matter of life and death. No-Longer-Naked has confiscated what remains of the cookies and is scanning them with a weird blue light tube thing. Cape Man is crouched down and gently asking the girl who gave her the cookies. She points at one of the suited men. He looks like an ordinary innocent bloke to me, but Cape Man walks up to him and rips off his face.

I mean that literally. He rips off his face. And there is another completely different face underneath. A vaguely satanic bearded face which gives a delicate eyebrow quirk and assures Cape Man that:

"The girl will not be harmed as long as you conform to my demands."

There's chaos then and I'm mostly forgotten. All of the army people fall over themselves trying to get ahold of the bearded man, but he just laughs — cackles more like — and vanishes into thin air. I swear, I am not making any of this up. The Brigadier, the girl's father, is yelling and shouting. The girl is looking a bit faint, and I feel bad for her even if she was annoying earlier.

She's rushed out of the hut by No-Longer-Naked and Cape Man with the Brigadier bringing up the rear. There's a weird growling thumping noise from outside and then it gets really quiet.

But not for long. Everyone bursts into talking. Some of the army guys form into search parties to look for the evil vanishing bearded man. Others start gathering up the baked goods and tossing them. There's more than a few altercations with angry women as their prized confections get binned, but they calm down pretty quick when it's pointed out that a little girl just got poisoned and no one ought to be eating poisoned food and no, no one is insinuating that you put poison in your brownie Misses Tievoid.

Ladies and suits start leaving in droves. My Mum comes up to me and tells me it's time to go. I don't want to. I want to know how everything turns out, but like with everything happening tonight, I apparently don't get any choice. That's my luck — just when the bake sale gets interesting I have to leave.

But, bright side! I actually end up making it to the party I was invited to in the first place. I show up late and it's not that great. Everyone's pretty smashed and the hot girl doesn't look nearly so hot puking in the living room. She has a boyfriend anyway. I leave early. Go home. Do home stuff like brushing my teeth and sleeping.

I ask my Mum later how the little girl's doing. She says that she doesn't know because she didn't really know most of the people at the bake sale. She says that she thinks the whole thing was some kind of misguided charity stunt, but not a very well pulled off one because they raised nearly no money and made a lot of people upset when they binned all of the cakes. I know that my Mum was right pissed about her scones going into the dumpster even though she didn't say anything.

I thought that was the end of it, but it wasn't, because about two weeks later I'm walking home from school and I see No-Longer-Naked walking down the street towards me. He's no longer naked and he's no longer wearing a tablecloth either. He's properly dressed in a cheap looking suit and a long brown coat. Alright, properly dressed is stretching it: He's wearing trainers with the suit.

There's a woman walking beside him. She's got red hair and big boobs. She's right scolding him and he's protesting:

"She'd been poisoned!"

"You could've stopped to put trousers on!"

"She'd been poisoned!"

"That didn't stop you from stopping to _eat the cake out of your hair_ half way through fixing the antidote. You weren't doing anything but handing yourself test tubes anyway, Space Man, then I took that over from you so that you could _continue eating cake_."

"I was trying to ascertain the chemical make-up of the toxin?" No-Longer-Naked says meekly. " And what does it matter? She doesn't remember! The toxin wiped at least a week."

"I thought the Brigadier was going to slap you."

"He did slap me, and then you did as well, and then I did, and then you did again, and then… hello!"

No-Longer-Naked walks right into me. Then he grins at me like that was something clever. His companion takes one look at me and then tells me to put my eyes somewhere else. I resolutely look at my feet.

No-Longer-Naked hugs me. This is not how I pictured my day going. Why me God? Why him? Why not his ginger friend?

When he lets me go, he's introducing me to his ginger friend, Donna. Except he doesn't know my name to introduce me.

"Joseph Grant," I tell him, and he immediately starts gushing about meeting another Jo Grant so I have to tell him, "It's a family thing. My Mum's Joanna, but she goes by Anne."

I ask him, "Is the little girl alright?"

And he tells me that yes, yes she is.

"Because of you, Jo Grant, Katherine Lethbridge-Stewart is safe."

I tell him that I don't ever go by Jo — that's my aunt. I'm Joseph. Or Seph. He then repeats the sentence calling me Seph:

"Seph Grant, because of you, Katherine Lethbridge-Stewart is safe. Well, not just because of you, but you noticed the cookies, which I'm sure I would've seen eventually, but it might've been too late by then so…"

His friend Donna smacks him and tells me that what he means is, "Thank you."

No-Longer-Naked asks me about what I'm planning to do with my life, and when I don't have a good answer he gives me a card for something called UNIT and tells me that he can guarantee I'll always be able to get a job with them no matter what, so long as I don't grow a beard and start cackling.

Then he and the ginger woman walk away. I watch them go. They climb into a police public call box which is parked half a block away. It growls. It thumps. It vanishes.

I turn the business card over in my hand. I remember auntie Jo's stories after she'd been into the wine. The aliens and the time travel and the madcap adventures. I put the card in my pocket.

In two years, I think, I'm going to be seeing some really interesting stuff.  


* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=49587>


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